


The Lyon Tattoo

by RattyCatty



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Minor Daniel/Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Minor Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Huntsman | Sheriff Graham, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:58:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2859854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RattyCatty/pseuds/RattyCatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Swan Queen play on the soulmate tattoo thing from /that Tumblr post/ merged with the whole lion/lyon SQ tattoo debate. A tiny, black flower appears on Regina's wrist one night, eventually leading her to her soulmate, Emma, who has the same tattoo. Focuses a lot on Regina's character and past, and results in fluffy Swan Queen romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lyon Tattoo

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on that Tumblr post about what if people had tattoos that matched them to their soulmate. I played around with the idea and merged it slightly with the whole lion/lyon tattoo thing regarding Regina/Robin and Regina/Emma, and this weird frankenfic happened.
> 
> It focuses a lot on Regina's character and her past to begin with, and is a little angsty as a result, but results in Swan Queen and stupid, gross fluff (yay!).
> 
> I hope you enjoy. Feedback is always greatly appreciated.
> 
> WARNINGS: Mention of child abuse, brief description of rape (Regina & King Leopold), suggestion of rape (Regina & Graham), and some swearing. Also a tiny bit of Regina/Daniel and Regina/Graham.

The young, innocent Regina Mills is washing for bed when she sees the mark on her wrist appear.

It's her sixteenth birthday, and her mother holds an extravagant ball in her honour. All the eligible bachelors are there, of course, and she's required to dance with most, if not all of them. None of them catch her eye though, even after her mother takes a long time to explain the pros and cons of each and every one.

After so long consorting with various admirable men and not finding herself attracted to any of them, Regina wonders if she's not meant for men at all. She's heard whisperings of women who prefer other women, though she knows they're frowned on by all respectable figures; her mother would _certainly_ not allow it. She also knows that marriage is not about love – it's about power and riches, according to her mother.

No, Regina thinks. She's not one of those queer women. Perhaps this is how all young girls feel, and no one actually enjoys marriage – they only pretend to.

Sitting in the marble tub immersed in the warm, sparkling water relaxes her a little. She feels more human and less like a prize to be won by whomever her mother deems suitable – because she knows in the end, it's not her choice who she marries. Regina scoops up a handful of water and allows it to spill over her bony shoulders. Then she stops and cocks her head in curiosity.

The delicate skin of her right wrist is marked with a tiny black symbol; over the blueish veins hidden beneath olive sky lies the outline of a flower with five petals.

The brunette feels a thrill of excitement at this. When she was small, her father had told her stories of this, the mark of a soulmate; he had told her that when she's old enough, she will be marked, and someone in the world will have that same mark. That person will be her soulmate, the one person who understands her and loves her like no one else, and she will feel the same about them.

Finally receiving her mark makes Regina feel like she's becoming a woman, which is both exciting and slightly scary. Nevertheless, it gives her a spark of hope because maybe she can persuade her mother to allow her to marry her soulmate, whoever they may be.

* * *

Her mother doesn't understand like Regina had hoped she would, and the girl kicks herself for ever thinking mother _would_ understand. When does mother ever take her wishes into consideration?

A couple of nights after her birthday, Regina tells her strong-willed mother about the mark on her wrist.

"Mother?" Regina offers softly as she walks into the large room her mother likes to relax in.

"Regina, darling, come in," Cora beckons lightly, a gleaming smile on her face.

The brunette is quick to step inside and move to where her mother lounges on a plush chaise, standing respectfully before her as she had been taught.

"What is it, dear?" Cora asks, turning back to focus on her goblet of wine. She sounds disinterested, as if she's only asking out of obligation and cares nothing for the answer.

"I came to say goodnight, mother. I also have something to show you, if that is quite alright?" Regina replies.

This grabs Cora's attention, and she tilts her head up to look at her daughter curiously. "Of course." She moves her legs to make space for her daughter next to her and watches expectantly.

The brunette sits down elegantly and tilts her arm so the flower on her wrist faces up for her mother to see. "It appeared when I was taking my bath a few nights ago," she explains. She's suddenly anxious about how her mother will react; Cora Mills isn't the most accepting person, and especially unkind when displeased. Regina has to force herself not to shudder when she thinks about some of the particularly unpleasant punishments she's had to endure – punishments she still bears the marks of.

Cora narrows her eyes as she examines it. "I've never seen this one before," she muses and then stands and paces thoughtfully. "What do you think of it? Have you seen it on anyone else?" she asks her daughter. She knows what answer she wants, and she prays her daughter gives it to her because otherwise she's going to have to do something.

"I think it's wonderful, mother," Regina admits, standing up in an attempt to engage her mother better. She's in love with the idea of there being one person out there meant for her. "I have not met the other person with this mark, however."

Her mother sighs internally, feels irritation bubbling up inside herself. "None of the men at any of your balls have sported this image?"

Regina swallows. "No, mother."

Cora scowls. "And what are you planning to do about that?" This is it; if her infuriatingly strong-hearted daughter doesn't come through this time, there are going to be consequences.

Regina senses something sour about her mother's words, but she knows it will be far worse if she says nothing or lies, only for her mother to see through her. "I hope that I will someday meet the person who shares this mark," she says. "Maybe they will even be all that you want for me!"

"And if they're not?"

Raising her head defiantly, Regina announces honestly, "Then I will be happy to marry someone who loves me for who I am and not simply for my youth and looks." She's proud that her voice doesn't waver at all.

The back of Cora's hand collides with Regina's cheek with a dull _smack_ that echoes around the large room. "You stupid girl," she says in a sickeningly sweet voice. "Marriage is not about love. You should know that by now."

The brunette girl sets her jaw and looks down at the tiled floor as she bites back the tears that have welled in response to the stinging pain. "Why not, mother? What's so wrong about love?"

Cora huffs an exasperated sigh. "Love is weakness, child. We have been through this, and you would do well to learn that before it gets you into a mess that _I_ have to get you out of," she snaps.

"Mother, love is strength – I am sure of it – and it's all I wish for," Regina tries to reason.

"Silly girl," Cora mutters and shakes her head, coming to a stop in front of her daughter. She looks earnestly at her as she says, "I just want to help you, my sweet child. Why do you think I've done all I have for you?" she asks softly. "You'll thank me when you are married happily to a rich, respectable man, and have all the power you want."

"I don't _want_ power, mother," Regina argues.

"You will, one day, dear," Cora promises. "I won't argue about this with you anymore. Goodnight." Then she flicks her wrist in dismissal, as if Regina is a simple servant who has done all she can for tonight.

"Goodnight, mother," Regina says through gritted teeth as she turns and heads to her chambers. Of course mother wouldn't understand. Regina just thinks she's lucky to escape with only harsh words and a slap to the face.

* * *

She's seventeen now, and hopelessly in love with the stable boy. He doesn't have the five-petal flower on his wrist like she does, but it doesn't matter because she loves him all the same. He treats her kindly, never expects too much from her but is unsurprised and supportive when she shines brightly – he treats her like she had hoped the person with the flower tattoo would, and in turn, she treats him just as well.

Whilst Daniel is possibly the last person anyone would imagine her falling in love with – he is the stable boy, after all, and so he is a much lower rank than her – it makes complete sense at the same time. He's kind-hearted and gentle, able to engage in thoughtful and provoking conversation with her (unlike the witless men at the balls) but also able to recognise when she needs him to be passive and soothing.

Regina thinks he may be her True Love – because she knows there's a subtle difference between True Love and a soulmate.

* * *

She's on the dirty floor of the stables on her knees and her cheeks are stained with salty tears that never seem to cease their flow. She can feel a headache coming on, but that's the last thing on her mind right now.

Daniel is dead and there's nothing she can do about it.

Her mother had finally gone the extra mile in her harsh controlling of her daughter's life, and she'd done it by tearing the still-beating heart straight from her lover's chest and crushing it into dust right before Regina's eyes. She cradles his heavy, lifeless body as she tries her best to hold in the violent sobs that wrack her small body, tries her best to be strong for him, but it's too hard and she's in too much pain, and so the tears just keep coming.

The worst part about it all is that they'd been so close to escaping her mother's steel grasp, so close to getting out of this hell hole and running away to somewhere where they could start anew, even have their own family. Regina wasn't lying when she said power meant nothing to her, and she'd been willing to live as a peasant if it meant she got to live her life with the stable boy.

But now the stable boy is dead, and she's to be married to the King.

At that moment, Regina realises that her mother was right all along; despite how nice it is to have, love _is_ weakness, and now it's got her into the mess that her mother always said it would.

Regina knows that if she wants to get through this marriage, she needs to close her heart. She has to stop loving.

* * *

She's pinned beneath the King, and he's drunk again. She can smell the strong stench of alcohol on his unpleasantly warm breath, taste it on the plump, slippery lips that he presses messily against hers.

It's been two years since his wife's death and he's grieving just as much as he was the day after her passing. His way of dealing with that is to force himself on his new, young wife and swallow and smother her protests until she learns that it's no longer worth complaining. She learnt that _long_ ago, and now she stays as silent as possible; she won't give him the novelty of hearing her desperate whimpers and anguished cries, even if he's too drunk to miss them.

Apparently he's not as blind as Regina expects though, because when he pins her hands above her head and pushes her knees apart by placing his body between them, he stops. He pauses his assault on her lips and tilts his head in an odd way as the thick, clumsy digits of his left hand smooth over her right wrist in a way that's almost tender.

"What's this?" he slurs, frowning in confusion. "It's like a flower."

_It_ is _a flower_ , Regina thinks drily. _If you were sober, you'd be able to see that._ She wonders how drunk he must be to have completely forgotten the existence of these soulmate tattoos. Her heart drops despite herself, because he hadn't spotted the mark for two years and it had been nice to have _something_ that he hadn't tainted with his fumbling, brutish hands or his complete emotional ignorance.

But now he's corrupted that part of her too, and she feels nausea rising inside her. It's such a small thing but it's all she has left, and now it's _gone._ It's just one more thing coveted from her.

* * *

"He was my true love," Regina explains as she forces herself to keep the pain off her face and her voice level. She frowns, though, because the sorcerer's – Rumpelstiltskin, his name is – questions are a bit odd. They're scattered and seemingly unrelated to each other. Regina is convinced the man is positively insane.

The flamboyant sorcerer's eyes flash and he smirks dangerously. "Not your soulmate, hmm?"

Regina's brow furrows as she wonders what the strange man is getting at. "No," she responds. Hesitantly, she pushes up the lacy sleeve of her gown to reveal the flower mark on her wrist. "He doesn't have this mark," the brunette tells him.

Rumple scuttles forward to get a better look, and then grins wickedly. So it's true; the soon-to-be Evil Queen is meant to be with the Saviour who has yet to be born. He has seen this in visions, but he had to see it for himself, and it's truly amazing. Cora Mills' cold, cruel heart would give out if she knew what he knew. "Then why the big fuss?" he sneers.

"I love – loved – him," Regina cries, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and she's shocked that he doesn't understand that.

Rumpelstiltskin laughs eerily, and it sets the brunette on edge. His laugh is hollow and mocking, and it makes her feel unease that spreads its long fingers of dread to her very core. She suddenly wonders if this is such a good idea. _Of course it is,_ she tells herself. She wants to get revenge on her insufferable stepchild and escape her pig of a husband, and this man can help her do so. "Can you help me?" she asks in irritation.

"I can, dearie. I can indeed." The sorcerer gives her that damn smirk again. This will be fun, he thinks.

* * *

The Huntsman grunts and pants as he kneels on the cold, hard floor of Her Majesty's chambers, his arms twisted uncomfortably above him. His hands have been shackled to the ceiling, preventing any escape or movement which might relieve his discomfort for a second, and his arms cramped up long ago.

"My poor little pet. Did I go too hard on you?" Her Majesty teases with a pout as she trails a painted fingernail up his naked chest and then back down again, tracing the lines of the hard muscles that ripple beneath her touch. The Queen's tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip, and her dark, burning eyes roam over the sight before her; the Huntsman, her pet, naked and strung up, forced to do her bidding.

The Huntsman says nothing, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of breaking him anymore than she already has. He can feel goose bumps rise on his skin in response to her coy teasing, and he despises his body's reaction to the not-unattractive Queen.

The Queen hums lowly, as if she's admiring his bravery. "You're a strong one, Huntsman," she compliments, standing back and looking him up and down – as if she hasn't seen it all before, hasn't just violated him over and over, coaxed a natural bodily reaction from him and made him hate himself for it.

Then, she steps closer again and he hears the scraping and clinking of metal against metal, before the shackles drop open and his arms fall limply to his sides. He slumps, breathing hard, as pain courses through his arms. Still he says nothing.

"Come, my pet. Join me in bed. It shall offer you a brief reprieve from your…duties," the Queen says in a gentle voice, smooth like melted chocolate. The Huntsman hates her, _God,_ does he hate her, but after being chained up uncomfortably and taken advantage of, a soft bed sounds like the most appealing thing in all the realms. He forces himself to his feet, ignoring the dainty hand offered to him, and staggers over to the impossibly large bed. He wonders absently why one small woman needs such a large bed all to herself, but then realises that's just life when you're a queen. If you can have anything, why settle for less?

By the time he manages to crawl beneath the covers, the Queen is already settled down. She pulls him closer tenderly, touching as much of that rough skin as she can in the process. He winds up with his head resting on her shoulder whilst her long fingers weave through his tangled hair, carefully and gently combing out each knot. Her warmth surprises him, but it's a welcome change from the brutal, intense "duties" she had him perform earlier.

He'd be lying if he said Regina wasn't attractive – not that that makes _any_ of this welcome or ok – and so he finds his fingers inching across her soft, olive skin, taking pleasure in her warmth and softness. It's been a long time since he's been with a woman, and he's forgotten how pleasant the female body was – all smooth curves and silky skin.

His fingers reach her arm and he can't help but slide them over her hand, touch her fingers and her palm. It feels so human – _she_ feels so human – and it's a strange contrast to the person she is when everyone's watching, but welcome. Her hands are delicate and it's easy to imagine them performing some mundane or caring task with them; it's as easy to imagine as it is her using those same hands to order death upon entire villages.

Then the Huntsman reaches her wrist, and she freezes. Her entire body tenses under his touch, much as he had earlier, and he looks down to see what appears to be a small, black flower tattooed on the Queen's wrist.

"Your Majesty," he says, bristling at the way the formal title rolls easily off his tongue; already, she's managed to tame him to an extent. "This tattoo, is this the mark of your soulmate?"

After a long couple of seconds, Regina speaks. "Do you know the other person with this mark?" Her voice is cold and detached, as if she's masking her curiosity and the hint of hope that has sparked inside her.

The Huntsman sighs internally because he doesn't, and he has no doubt he's going to pay the price for his intrigue. "No."

The Queen seems to deflate minutely, and he's surprised she allowed him to see it – or maybe she didn't even realise she did. Her walls are up a mere instant later, and she sits up in one smooth movement, throwing a leg over his waste and raking her fingers down his chest. The sheen of sweat still remains, but it has cooled, leaving a rather unpleasant sensation.

"I think that's enough of a rest, don't you, Huntsman?" she announces haughtily as she leans down and traces the burning pink lines left by her nails with the very tip of her tongue.

He _doesn't_ think it's enough of a rest – the persistent pain in his arms hasn't dulled the slightest bit in the five minutes he spent in the Queen's bed, and he's so tired; the Huntsman just wants to sleep and give his body time to recuperate, but he knows he won't sleep until Her Majesty wants him to.

Unknown to both of them, the flower on Regina's wrist glows a warning red before fading to a shade of grey just lighter than the black it originally was.

* * *

Her new town is wonderful, but it's not what she hoped it would be. Yes, it's true that it looks and works just as she had planned; every last detail is exactly as she wanted, and it's certainly a joy to see the people who have wronged her be stuck in their mediocre ruts. It doesn't make her feel any better than she originally did, though; the socking hole in her chest is still there, and she's practically devoid of any _real_ emotion.

So after eighteen years living what feels like the same day over and over, Regina decides something has to change. She adopts a tiny child – someone to care for like she hasn't for a long time, someone to depend on her. His name is Henry and he is her world; he fills the void in her heart.

The flower tattoo barely crosses Regina's mind anymore – it hasn't since she truly gave up hope and hardened her heart. She decides it must be wrong and that she is destined to be alone with only her son to believe in her, and eventually she makes peace with this; she's strong (she must be, for she's survived everything that's happened to her so far) and can do without some idiot to cling to her and whisper meaningless words to her at night.

* * *

Somewhere in America, a fourteen year old girl sits in a seedy tattoo parlour. It's a sketchy place; cobwebs stretch from corner to corner and hang from light fixings, and every now and then, the lights flicker ominously. The blonde teenage found out about it from a flyer one of the older kids at the home had, and she really wasn't a fan of the place – it made her skin crawl – but if she wanted the tattoo, this was her only option.

So here she is, sitting on a pleather seat while some large, bearded man jabs a long needle into the soft flesh of her wrist. Emma's pretty sure this whole thing is illegal, but it's not the first time she's broken the law. The man had made no effort to see ID or even ask her her age, and she knows it has more to do with him not caring than treating her like her mental age, but it's nice. She never saw the point in everyone policing what she does when they've already wrecked her psyche by not giving a shit about her emotions.

He doesn't speak to her while he works, and it gives Emma time to think about the reason she's getting this tattoo.

It's all because of Lily, the girl she became good friends with for a day not that long ago. Lily had helped her out of a sticky situation in a supermarket, and they became fast friends. That was, until it turned out Lily's whole story had been a lie – just another bundle of lies told to her by someone to draw her nearer, to _use_ her.

For a while, though, she'd felt special – maybe even unique. Lily had shown her the star-shaped mark on her wrist, and proceeded to draw one on Emma's wrist. It was a tiny gesture, but it meant the world to her.

"All done," the man says, bringing her out of her thoughts. He wraps her wrist in cling film and then gets up and beckons the only other customer in the grimy parlour. Emma peers down at her new tattoo and smiles fondly. On the opposite wrist to the one Lily had drawn on was the outline of a tiny, black flower with five petals.

* * *

"You're Henry's birthmother?" Regina breathes. She feels as if she's been winded, like all the air has been knocked from her body and there's a truck on her chest. Honestly, she knew this day might come someday – the day when her beloved son's mother would arrive and try to take him from her – but she had managed to distance herself from it. Why waste time focusing on what _might_ happen when she can focus on what _is_ happening?

But that kind of thinking has bitten her on the ass and now she has no idea what to do. The small, nervous, smiling blonde woman in the despicable red leather jacket who stands before her seems like the scariest thing she's encountered for a long time.

She's not the Evil Queen anymore; she's the mayor of Storybrooke, a town with no magic, and she can't just flick her wrist and have her killed in an instant. Regina has to be clever about how she goes about this.

"Yeah," the blonde says sheepishly with a stupidly cute – not cute at all – smile.

Regina tells herself it's fear that's scattering her thoughts, and so she steels herself; she holds herself higher and gives the other woman an award-winning smile. "How would you like a glass of the best apple cider you've ever tasted?" she offers.

Emma exhales and looks Regina up and down. "Got anything stronger?"

Neither women notice their matching tattoos glow silver.

* * *

The women grow closer than ever before when they travel to Neverland in search of their missing son. Apparently being forced to share a cabin, get along civilly, and work together brings people together.

When they return, they've formed a weird sort of friendship. There's a mutual respect, and an understanding of what the other has been through – their pasts are more similar than either are willing to recognise. Regina might even say the idiot gets her like no one else does – not that she'd actually admit it aloud.

They fit together like two weird, fucked up puzzle pieces.

* * *

When Regina sees it, it's during one of Emma's magic lessons. They're bickering as usual, though it's more playful than biting, and the Saviour is pretty sure she sees an amused glint and a flash of something unrecognisable in the former queen's eyes.

Currently, Emma's trying to learn how to use magic to teleport – or, as Emma had said earlier, 'poof around'. They've started small; right now, Emma's only supposed to poof from one end of the Charming house to the other with Regina's careful supervision. A number of failed attempts have made her frustrated, and she throws her arms in the air in annoyance. "I can't do it!" she exclaims. "It's not working!"

"I can see that it's not working, dear," Regina says with a smirk. The Saviour really is dense sometimes, but it's somewhat endearing. "But you _can_ do it, Emma," she promises.

"How?" Emma says, sticking her bottom lip out like a child.

Regina takes a step forward. "You have to look inside yourself and locate the core of your magic. Imagine where you want to go – the appearance, feelings, smells – and you'll get there."

The blonde huffs a sigh and closes her eyes, imagining all of the things Regina told her to.

Nothing.

The brunette can sense a whine coming from the Saviour when she opens her eyes, and so Regina moves over to stand mere inches away from her. She takes both of her hands in her own and holds them tightly. She can see the question in Emma's wide eyes already, so she explains, "Draw from me. My magic is far more controlled. You might find it easier to use."

Emma nods and begins to close her eyes, but then Regina drops her hands and jumps back a few steps as if she's been burnt.

The former mayor exhales roughly as she stares at the tattoo on Emma's wrist. She's never noticed it before, mostly because she's never been close enough to it – Regina doesn't spend a lot of time looking at Emma's wrists when she can look at the rest of her instead.

She can't believe what she's seeing, and suddenly it feels as if all the air has been sucked from the room.

Emma's tattoo is a small flower – the same five petal flower she has on her own wrist.

Emma can't be her soulmate – the saviour who was born to break her curse, the idiot who still eats cereal for dinner when she can. They barely got along until recently – how can they be meant for each other?

Regina doesn't know anything other than the fact that she has to get out of there _now_ , and go somewhere Emma isn't.

"I have to go," she announces. "We'll do this another time." With that, she rushes out and slams the door behind her.

* * *

Emma heaves a sigh and tips back the last of her beer.

"What's got you down?" Tinkerbell plops down on the barstool next to her and gestures for a whisky.

The blonde shrugs, unsure if she should tell the fairy. Tinkerbell _is_ Regina's closest friend, and she's not sure if talking to her about her feelings regarding the brunette's quick exit this morning would be wise.

_Fuck it._ "Regina," she says simply, cracking open the new bottle of beer Ruby has placed in front of her.

Tinkerbell frowns. "Regina? What did she do?"

The Saviour cringes slightly at the accusatory tone the fairy uses – it's not Regina's fault exactly. "It's…not her fault," she voices sadly. "We were doing magic and then she was staring at my hands and then she just…bailed on me. She seemed pretty freaked."

The fairy picks up the blonde's hands, turning them over and over as if searching for the culprit. She knows Regina, and she knows the former queen wouldn't flee without good reason; Regina's arguably the bravest, strongest person she knows.

Emma watches curiously as the other woman smooths her thumbs over every inch of both the front and back of her hands. Was this some weird Fairytale Land thing?

Tink spots a hint of black peeking out from beneath the red leather of the Saviour's jacket and doesn't hesitate to roughly shove the sleeve higher up the blonde's arm, revealing the flower tattoo. The fairy sighs in exasperation and looks earnestly at Emma.

"Really? You didn't think _that_ might scare her off?" Tinkerbell asks.

Emma honestly hasn't got a clue what's going on. "What? Why would it?" she mumbles. "I've had half my life. Why would it scare Regina?"

"You haven't seen her tattoo?"

Emma's eyes bug comically. " _Regina_ has a tattoo?" She's trying desperately to imagine the former mayor getting inked – what would she get? _Where_ would she get it? Her mind goes to more than slightly impure places thinking about _that_ question – but it's such a bizarre image.

"The same one," Tinkerbell tells her. "In the exact same place."

The Sheriff is speechless when she hears this. _Today just gets weirder and weirder._

The petite woman sighs again. "In our realm, every person receives a mark when they reach a certain age. Only two people will have the same mark, and it's said they are destined to be together – soulmates," she explains.

Emma exhales and shakes her head minutely. This is too much. "Are you saying Regina's my soulmate?" she breathes tentatively. How could they possibly be soulmates when they hated each other for so long?

"If I know her, that will be the reason she 'freaked'," Tinkerbell replies. It makes sense; Regina had done the same thing when the fairy had tried to show her the man who she was certain would bring the brunette happiness. (Thinking about this makes Tinkerbell's head hurt – the fairy dust couldn't be wrong, but the man with the lion tattoo obviously wasn't Regina's soulmate. She thinks it's possible that he would have brought Regina happiness until she reached Emma Swan, her _true_ happiness.)

The Saviour's still having trouble with the fact that _Regina Mills_ , the former mayor/evil queen, the woman who had adopted her son, is her soulmate. She'd given up hope on finding love long ago, and now she's being told that not only can she find love, but that she can find love with the woman who had tried to kill her once.

It's not an unpleasant surprise, however. Regina certainly isn't unattractive, and she realises that recently, they've been getting along like a house on fire – their bickering has turned light-hearted and fun, and Regina expects nothing from her, unlike the rest of the town, who expect their Saviour to know what to do all the time, in any situation. Emma's pretty sure she would have absolutely no qualms if the brunette decided to kiss her.

"I'm going to talk to Regina. Try not to get too drunk," Tinkerbell says and hops down from the bar stool. Emma doesn't hear her, but the fairy's already gone by the time she pulls herself out of her thoughts.

* * *

Regina is sitting in her vault with one hand resting over her stomach as she attempts to calm her panicked breathing. Her eyes flutter shut as she inhales and exhales over and over again, soothing herself and processing the discovery of Emma's tattoo.

It's the same as hers – the five petal flower on her right wrist – in every way, even down to the one petal that is slightly smaller than the other four. It would appear she's found the soulmate she's been waiting for since she was a naïve sixteen year old; it's more than a little overwhelming.

Where do they go from here? What does she do with this knowledge now?

Regina's first instinct is to push the Saviour away, to build up her walls again and reject any love or care that may come from the other woman. Her son aside, there has not been a single person in her life so far who hasn't taken the faith and hope she's placed in them and crushed it in one way or another – whether it be by betraying her, or by being the victim of betrayal and ending up dead. She would be foolish to hope Emma will be any different.

Except maybe she will be.

When everyone – even her own son – had abandoned her and left her to destroy herself, _Emma_ had been the one to find her and guide her onto the right path again, the path that would lead to finding acceptance once more. _Emma_ was the person who trusted her and believed in her when every other person had blamed her. _Emma_ was the one person who has the slightest idea of how she feels and who understands her like no one else.

In a way, it makes complete sense that the Saviour – _her_ Saviour – is her soulmate. Their pasts parallel and they connect in a way that neither have ever connected to another soul before.

Regina feels her breathing begin to quicken again because what if she can't do it? What if she messes this up too?

She doesn't have time to dwell on it because there's a loud clatter from the corner of the room.

Regina springs from her place on the sofa and instinctively conjures a smouldering ball of fire.

"Shit! Sorry," an accented voice exclaims. From the stack of fallen books, the small, blonde fairy stands up and brushes herself down. She surveys the damage caused by her messy landing before smiling sheepishly at the surprised brunette. "It's been a while since I used magic to teleport. I'm a bit rusty."

"Tink," Regina huffs, clenching her raised hand and snuffing out the fire ball. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," Tinkerbell says.

"You couldn't have phoned me?" the former mayor replies in irritation.

Confusion flickers across the fairy's face. " _Phoned…_ you?" She frowns before shrugging. She doesn't know what 'phoning' someone is, but she supposes it's just another thing from this realm that she doesn't yet understand. She makes a mental note to ask Regina to teach her the ways of this odd place at some point. "Whatever. It's about Emma."

"Emma," Regina breathes. Of course. She wearily sits back down and gestures vaguely to the space next to her, inviting the fairy to sit.

Tinkerbell obeys, and then decides there's no use for preamble – unless she wants to get kicked out before she's even got her point out, that is. "She has the same tattoo as you."

"I know," Regina murmurs and sets her jaw, refusing to meet the other woman's eye.

"You know what that means, right?" Tinkerbell watches the former queen carefully, searching for a slight hint of emotion, anything that might give away the storm she's sure is surging inside her.

There's a long pause. "Yes."

The fairy waits a couple of seconds before she sighs and her shoulders slump slightly. "Regina, I know you never went into the tavern looking for the man with the lion tattoo. Not only did you starve yourself of happiness, but you also –"

"–Starved him of his. Yes, we've been through this," Regina snaps. She's really not fond of the idea of having this conversation again.

"Emma needs you, and we both know you need her too." Tinkerbell can practically hear Regina's attempt at arguing before it's even passed her lips, so she quickly adds, "Do you know how much the Saviour likes you? She was drinking away her sorrows just because she thought she did something wrong and scared you away."

Regina's eyebrows rise. To be truthful, she _doesn't_ know how much Emma likes her. They're friends, but Regina has no idea beyond that. "Really?" she asks huskily, brows furrowed.

"You should have seen the hope in her eyes when she realised you're soulmates," Tink replies with a cheeky smile.

The brunette chuckles at that. She can easily imagine Emma doing that stupid puppy dog face, big green eyes lit up ridiculously. _What an idiot._

_My idiot,_ something in the back of her mind whispers.

"Regina, please, just – give it a go?" the fairy suggests. She really does want to help Regina get her happy ending, despite the slightly rough patch they went through that time Regina was evil and had entire villages killed. The former queen's dealt with enough shit in her life; she deserves this.

Regina sighs in defeat. "Fine. But if it doesn't work out, it's on your head," she grumbles. She's sure this is a terrible idea, one that will only result in her pain and tears, but she's already been hurt over and over – what's one more time going to do to her?

"Great!" Tinkerbell practically squeals, pulling the brunette into a quick hug before standing. She's practically vibrating with excitement when she looks pointedly at Regina. "Talk to her," is all she says before flicking a wrist and disappearing in a cloud of pale green smoke, leaving a bewildered Regina alone in her vault.

* * *

_Knock knock._

Emma forces herself to get off the sofa and head to the door. This better be quick because she really is not in the mood for visitors; she has very important wallowing in her misery to do.

When she opens the door, her eyebrows shoot to her hairline. Regina is standing on the doorstep, looking uncharacteristically nervous; her chocolate eyes are wide and never meet the blonde's, her hands are clasped in front of her stomach where they fidget restlessly, and the woman looks like she's ready to bolt.

"Regina," Emma breathes. She suddenly wishes she made more of an effort with her appearance at home because she's certain she looks like shit.

The brunette forces a small smile. "We need to talk," she announces simply.

The Sheriff nods quickly in agreement and holds the door wider in invitation. "Uh, come in," she stammers. _Jesus, get it together, Emma._

Stepping inside, Regina offers the other woman a small smile of thanks before taking a deep breath and glancing around the apartment.

"We're alone. My parents aren't here," Emma tells her when she sees this.

This time it's Regina who nods. "Good," she says. "That's good."

"Can I get you something?" the blonde says suddenly. "Tea or coffee or…" she tries to remember what else they have in the house.

"Emma," the older woman states. She can see that Emma's trying to stall by offering her things, and she doesn't blame her – if their positions were switched, Regina would almost certainly do the same thing – but they need to get this over with; Regina thinks that if they don't, she's going to chicken out.

"Right. Sorry," Emma grunts.

"Did Tinkerbell tell you about soulmates in our land?" Regina begins.

"The tattoo thing? Yeah," the Sheriff says with a nod. "She said we have the same tattoo," she adds quietly.

Regina nods. "We're soulmates," she declares and resists the urge to roll her eyes because, God, the words sound unbelievably stupid as they fall from her lips.

Emma swallows. "What are we going to do?" she asks. Whilst she can't honestly say she has no feelings for Regina, they can't throw themselves into a relationship right now just because two tattoos say they're destined to be together.

"As ridiculous as it sounds, I think the best course of action is to talk," Regina says. "About our feelings. From that, we can discern what we should do next."

The Saviour almost laughs at that. Regina stills talks like the mayor she once was – always organised, always reliable. "Sounds good," Emma agrees. "Do you want to start, since you suggested it, or –"

Regina sits down elegantly on the old sofa. She should have known she'd have to be the first to admit her feelings. "You're an idiot," she huffs. "But, for some reason unknown to myself, I trust you." She looks up at Emma who stops her nervous pacing when she hears this.

Emma stares at the brunette and all she sees is honesty and vulnerability. Gone is the façade of that confident, bigger-than-life woman who had been the frightening mayor, and an even more terrifying queen. Now, she looks terribly human, sitting on Snow White's sofa, looking up at the Sheriff – her _soulmate –_ with wide, brown eyes full of sincerity.

"Do you like me?" Emma asks, because she thinks that's sort of an important criteria in deciding if two people are going to try to have a relationship of sorts.

"I do," Regina admits hesitantly. "I don't love you, but, I may be able to. One day," she adds almost inaudibly. "You believed in me when no one else did, and I'm grateful for that."

Emma exhales shakily and chuckles. Regina likes her. _Regina Mills_ likes her and has admitted to one day being able to _love_ her. The Sheriff has the urge to lean in and kiss the other woman, but she suspects that's pushing the slightly-blurred boundaries a little.

Then Regina looks pointedly at her. "Your turn, Sheriff."

"I like you – a lot," Emma offers, sitting beside the former mayor. "You don't expect crazy things from me just because I'm apparently the 'Saviour', and –" She stops suddenly because Regina's pink tongue snakes out of her mouth to wet her painted lips, and Regina's eyes seem to pierce her very soul, and _God,_ she's _hot_. "–Can I kiss you?" Emma blurts out, glancing down at those tantalising red lips.

The question is unexpected, and the instant flush of red that spreads across the Saviour's face suggests it was completely unplanned, but Regina isn't instantly offended. Instead, she swallows, and tells herself it might be a good indicator of what they should do next. So she nods minutely, and Emma dips her head.

It seems to take minutes – no, _hours_ – for their lips to meet, and the build-up is torturous but exhilarating. Regina's heart races in her chest with anticipation for the first time in a long time, and it takes all of her strength to take it slow and stay calm; part of her wants nothing more than to run in the opposite direction and put miles and miles between herself and Emma, but the other part desperately yearns for the feel of the blonde's mouth on hers and is eager to learn the touch and taste of the other woman.

Their lips finally brush together, and Emma almost moans at the feeling. She feels like this is what she's been waiting for for most of her life and now it's finally happening, and it's fantastic. She feels Regina tremble with need beneath her touch, and the chaste contact doesn't seem nearly enough, so she deepens the kiss, bringing them together properly.

It takes less than a second for the brunette's mouth to open for the blonde's warm, questing tongue, and a feeling of content spreads through each of them, like they've both found what they never knew they needed so much, as if each of them has found their last puzzle piece. The sensations are new and exciting, but at the same time, it feels completely right and familiar.

It feels like they've each found their soulmate.

The flower tattoos on their respective wrists glow a bright, shimmering golden as their spiritual connection grows stronger than ever before.

* * *

It's the fifth of December, two years after their first kiss and the day that changed everything for them.

"Henry! You're going to be late for school if you don't come down now," Regina shouts up the stairs before returning to the kitchen where a hot pot of coffee is brewing, and Henry's eggs are frying.

"Is the kid even awake?"

Regina chuckles at the blonde sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a large glass of ice cold water and a killer hangover. She shakes her head in amusement, and Emma marvels at the way the dark, silky hair bounces slightly. "You know, I have no idea. He better be, or he's never staying up late on the Xbox ever again," Regina answers, pouring a mug of coffee for herself and a second for the Sheriff.

At that moment, the women hear the clumsy footsteps of their son as he runs down the stairs and rushes into the kitchen. "Morning, mom, momma," he greets each of them.

"Eat," Regina says firmly with a glare that's nowhere near as sharp as she means it to be, pointing at the plate of eggs she's just laid on the table. He nods and falls into the wooden chair, wasting no time in tucking into his breakfast.

Emma smirks at their flustered son. He's grown up a lot in the last two years – he's fifteen now – but he's still incapable of waking up on time. In fact, _that_ aspect has only got worse over the years.

The smirk is wiped off her face when the pain in her head intensifies, even despite the painkillers she took half an hour ago. "Shit," she grunts, pushing her head into her hands in an attempt to ease the pain and block out the piercing light of the winter sun. "'Gina, can't I just pull a sickie today?" she groans.

"As the re-instated mayor speaking to her sheriff, I'm afraid I have to tell you no," Regina responds, finally coming to sit beside her at the table. "It serves you right for getting drunk the night before a work day."

"It was Ruby's birthday party!" Emma protests, and then whines again as she slumps down on the table. "Can you at least magic my hangover away?"

The brunette's fingers comb lovingly through the blonde's soft tresses, and it comforts the hung-over Sheriff a little – enough to make her sit up and look Regina in the eye. "You know hangovers are nature's way of teaching you a lesson about drinking, yes?" she teases. Her heart squeezes uncomfortably in response to seeing her lover in such a state, however, so she rests her fingers on Emma's temples and wills her light magic to take away the pain just enough for it to be bearable.

"Thanks," the blonde sighs. It's not perfect, but it's better, and she appreciates the help.

Regina shrugs and smiles, leaning in to kiss the Saviour softly.

"Gross," Henry mumbles through a mouthful of toast and egg, pulling a face of disgust at his two mothers. He's secretly chuffed that they've managed to find love together, though.

Emma snorts and pulls away from Regina. "Eat your goddamn breakfast, kid," she says with a grin and a playful roll of her eyes.

Then she drains the last of her coffee and stands up, cringing when the chair scrapes across the floor loudly, making the pain in her head flare up for a second; today is going to be a long day. "I should get going," she announces. "There are cats up trees to be saved."

Regina stands at the same time, leaning in to press another chaste kiss to the blonde's soft lips. "Have a good day. Rescue all the cats and try not to get too annoyed when your father is an idiot," she tells her, running her hands up Emma's strong arms before patting her shoulders and smiling sweetly.

Emma rolls her eyes. "Thanks," she laughs. "I'll see you later." She reluctantly parts from her lover's touch, and moves to ruffle their teenage son's hair – not that it makes much of a difference since it's already a mess anyway. "Bye, kid. Have a good day. Try not to be late," she bids him farewell and smirks when he tries to bat her hand away.

"Bye, mom," he replies and smiles mischievously at her.

Regina watches the scene with sparkling eyes; it's all very domestic – beautifully so. If anyone had told Regina when Emma had first come to Storybrooke that they'd be doing _this_ some years later, she would have laughed in their face. Now, though, this makes complete sense. It feels right, and the brunette understands now why Emma is her soulmate.

She glances down at the tattoo of the flower on her right wrist, and smiles. She remembers how she'd felt when it had first appeared, and then how she'd felt after decades of loneliness and pain – she'd felt as if the mark was a joke, mocking her for being completely broken and undeserving of a soulmate. Then she thinks about how she feels now, about how everything is seemingly perfect. Regina keeps waiting for the illusion to crack, for it all to come crashing down, ruined forever, as everything in her life has, but it doesn't happen.

"Momma?" Henry asks as he finishes his eggs and sees his mother looking down at that strange, tiny tattoo that she's never explained to him. Emma has it too and he wonders if it's something to do with their love. "Are you alright?"

Regina looks up, torn from her thoughts. "I'm fine, Henry," she tells him, and finally, it's true.

She really is fine; everything is.


End file.
